2011/09/07

One Morning after a Storm.... So Poetry Configures Its Comparisons

I time-stamped the second I read about what I thought would be the next big media shitstorm - I though, think how happy the suits at Fox and CNN will be - because, regardless of any facts released since or in the future, everyone (including you, me) would hysterically and luxuriously default to his or her current moral/political zeitgeist's interpretation reflexively, in my case the arch self-congratulatory and self-deprecating self-rebuking of a recent apostate.






As of seven this morning, it's buried on the Post's front webpage, doesn't appear at all on the NYT's front webpage, and none of the mouth-breathers at the Corner have started woofing, so maybe I'm wrong about everyone but me. On the other hand, I was going to write more about Maryland's uniform in general and my willfully incoherent aesthetic of uniforms in lengthy particular (plus more Harkin v Obama nonsense), so lucky you, consider yourself spared. Look! I did it again!










Julianna Barwick & Ikue Mori - Rejoinder from RVNG Intl. on Vimeo.




HOW SIMILE WORKS

Albert Goldbarth

The drizzle-slicked cobblestone alleys 
of some city
;
and the brickwork back
of the lumbering Galapagos tortoise
they'd set me astride, at the "petting zoo
"....

The taste of our squabble still in my mouth
the next day;
and the brackish puddles sectioning
the street one morning after a storm
....

So poetry configures its comparisons.

My wife and I have been arguing; now
I'm telling her a childhood reminiscence,
stroking her back, her naked back that was
the particles in the heart of a star and will be
again, and is hers, and is like nothing
else, and is like the components of everything
.




Julianna Barwick & Ikue Mori - Dream Sequence from RVNG Intl. on Vimeo.